


A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to Redcliffe

by cecania



Series: The Second Dragon Age [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-23
Updated: 2015-08-25
Packaged: 2018-04-16 21:16:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4640502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cecania/pseuds/cecania
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was supposed to be field work, a simple research expedition to get him back into his position at the University of Minrathous. It was supposed to be trying to figure out what had gone so very wrong with a friend, to find answers.</p><p>It was not supposed to be fleeing from his group in the middle of the day, in the middle of a desert. It was not supposed to be blood magic rituals to gods that were long dead and gone.</p><p>And it definitely was not supposed to be bandits, templars, and wild beasts trying to kill him on any given day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Beasts

            Scrambling over the top of a sand dune, Dorian gasped for air and desperately tried not to throw up the meagre meal he’d choked down earlier. It was currently number two on his list of to dos. Number one was putting as much distance between himself and the camp he had just left as quickly as possible. He’d had to wait until the sun was high in the sky and the other members of the expedition had definitely been asleep. He hadn’t been able to sleep, staring at the canvas of his tent and counting the minutes until he could leave.

            Kaffas, what had he even been thinking coming this far south?

            He’d never been fully convinced of the reasons to come here, but Alexius had insisted, told him it was his last chance to show those bastards in Minrathous what he was capable of. He knew full well just how broad Dorian’s mind was and how gifted he was. He also knew that he grew bored quickly when nothing was happening, when it was the same mundane thing day in, day out. Which was exactly what the job teaching at the university had been. Although he hadn’t done any teaching in a long time and the research he had been doing with Alexius had gone sour a long time ago. They both shouldered the blame for that, Dorian with his lack of love for the direction Tevinter was going and Alexius with everything that had happened with his family.

            Considering their falling out, it was a miracle he’d even listened, let alone agreed, to Alexius about coming down here. Although, if he was honest with himself, Dorian knew it hadn’t been Alexius that had convinced him; it’d been Felix. He was worried about his father. Ever since his mother had died and he’d gotten sick, everything had gone wrong in his house. The research was skewed, not at all what it had originally been when Dorian had been helping and the wrong people had started looking into it. His father disappeared in the middle of the night without a word and returned in the early hours of the morning, disheveled and muttering to himself before he would lock himself in his workroom for the rest of the day.

            Cults ran the gamut in Tevinter, a new one springing up daily it felt. Most of them had a focus on returning the aging Imperium to its glory days. They were the butt end of many jokes in the upper houses and allowed to flail about mindlessly. But as soon as they gained any sort of traction, they were stamped out. With the war between the qunari and Tevinter never ceasing, the Archon knew they couldn’t afford a fight on more than one front. Dorian had told Felix that whatever his father was involved in would blow over soon enough, but the panic and fear in his friend’s voice had stuck with him over the next few days. Enough so that he had gone to Alexius with the intention of trying to learn what he was dabbling in and had found himself signed onto an expedition to the south.

            And now he was desperately climbing sand dunes in the near middle of the day while the rest of the expedition slumbered through the heat. He needed to put as much distance between himself and that pack of lunatics as quickly as possible. It would have been more prudent to take one of the vehicles, but he hadn’t wanted to alert any of them of his departure sooner than need be. So he’d grabbed what supplies he knew he could carry, what would keep him sustained through the desert heat until he could find an appropriate place to hide, and then he was gone. Out into the blistering sun without a clear idea of where he was going because the map he had taken was decidedly of no use when he was focused on running. He’d have been better off with an electronic one but he hadn’t wanted to run the risk of them being able to track him through it so he had a paper one. All he could do was pray that it was still up to date.

            “You better not die wandering the back end of Thedas,” he muttered. “That would be brilliant, Dorian. Simply brilliant.”

            Although that would certainly be better than what had befallen the poor fools in that cave in the middle of nowhere.

            He stumbled, falling to his knees in the sand as he gagged. The scent was still in his nose, all the blood, the incense that didn’t even nearly cover it, the plants and potions they were using to keep the sod alive. Squeezing his eyes shut, Dorian breathed slowly and tried to control his rebelling stomach. He didn’t have time to waste on being sick. There wasn’t near enough distance between him and them. He wasn’t near far enough away to hide safely. Would he even be able to hide safely?

            The thought was squashed immediately as he pushed to his feet. He couldn’t think like that. He would find somewhere to hide, he would make it out of this desert. He refused to believe that he was going to die here. He absolutely refused.

            Going down a dune, he knew he could see taller rock structures in the not so far distance. It was probably a horrible place for him to hide, but he knew he had to get out of the sun before it hit midday. As much as he wanted to keep going, he couldn’t be out during that time. He’d use it to catch a little bit of sleep and let his body recover from being out in the heat. Then he would keep moving and see how far he could get.

            Hopefully they wouldn’t deem him that much of a threat as to use the vehicles to chase him down. It was a horrible thought but he hoped they went on with their research and didn’t spare him a single thought.

            Grimacing as he reached the bottom of the never ending sand pile, he shaded his eyes as he stared at the land around him. He didn’t want to be here. Why had he ever honestly agreed to come out here? Yes, Felix had been scared and, after what Dorian had seen, he had every right to be scared. But Southern Thedas? In the middle of a desert? Had he been drunk when Alexius had suggested this? He must have been because this was hands down the worst thing he had ever done in his life.

            Dorian flicked a glance at his watch and swore sharply. He’d been running for two hours and felt like he hadn’t made it anywhere. But it was eleven. He needed to either find shelter somewhere nearby or move faster. There were no other options unless he wanted to pass out in the middle of the sand and either become some creature’s lunch or the next one strapped to that stone altar. Neither of those was acceptable.

            Still moving forward, he unhooked the canteen at his waist and took a long drink. The water was warm but it was better than nothing. It was hard to stop at the single drink, his throat dry and everything in him screaming for more. But he wasn’t going to trust the water sources in the desert and he couldn’t risk using magic to purify it in case they tracked him through the mana usage. So he had to put it back on his belt and continue on.

            What he wouldn’t give for something to see beyond sand! He knew that was what a desert was, but this was ridiculous. There had to be more to this place than sand! There just had to be some-

            A low growl to his left had him freezing in place. His head slowly turned to see what was making the noise and his stomach plummeted when he saw a quillback far too close to him. How had he missed that?! How had he let it get that close to him?! Was the heat already messing with him this much?

            He kept his attention on the creature, well aware that it couldn’t be alone. It wouldn’t be other quillbacks, but there would be hyenas, ready to help take down whatever it attacked. Which would be him at this moment. Or would be if he let them.

            Magic sparked to life inside him, a natural response to his life being threatened. He didn’t squash it down immediately, wondering if the monster could feel it and would back down. He doubted that he would be that lucky, especially considering how this day had gone so far.

            “Don’t even think about it,” he said in a low voice as the creature crouched down. “I am not in the mood for you.”

            Of course there was no answer, except another low growl.

            “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he snapped, fingers flexing as sparks jumped between them. If he had to use magic, he would to keep himself alive. He would just move far away from where it was and pray that it was far enough.

            Dorian saw the ratty tail sweep through the air, the hindquarters swaying as it readied itself to leap at him. He wouldn’t let that happen. He’d roast the damn thing where it stood before it even got anywhere near him. He’d send it to the depths of the Void before it-

            Swearing loudly when something ripped through the air decidedly close to his head, Dorian stared as the quillback screamed in pain as an arrow embedded itself in its eye. Where had that even come from?! Was someone watching him? Had they been aiming for him? What was he supposed to do now?

            He suddenly remembered hearing that the wastes of Orlais were filled with mercenaries, blood thirsty bandits that would skin you alive just for the fun of it. Was this one of them? If so, why save him? Had they saved him?

            “What are you doing?!” a thickly accented voice shouted. “Run!”

            Where to?! Dorian hesitated for a moment before turning to where the voice had come from. He saw a figure swathed in black and ran toward them. He didn’t care if he was running to his doom at the moment. He just needed to get away from the creature that was still screaming behind him.

            Dorian watched as the figure drew back on a bow, lining up another shot. He stumbled when he actually felt the arrow disturb the air just beside his cheek and heard the sound of it sinking into flesh. Was it a hyena or the quillback refusing to give up? He didn’t want to know. Keeping his gaze on his possible saviour, he wasn’t ready for the other man to spin on his heel and start running in the same direction Dorian was before he reached him.

            But he kept following him, hoping against hope that he had a shelter set up that he’d be willing to share with Dorian for a few hours. He was heading for a rocky outcropping so that was promising. Unless he was leading Dorian to his doom at the hands of his ruthless mercenary band. That was not a comforting thought.

            “Inside!” the man snapped, spinning around when he reached the rocks and lifting his bow once again.

            Dorian nearly demanded where before he saw it. What had to be the smallest opening in the rocks he had ever seen in his life. But it gave him a little more hope. Surely there wasn’t a band of cutthroat killers inside or a pack of personally trained hyenas that were going to eat him alive. Squeezing through the entrance, he hissed as he felt the rocks scrape at him through his clothes. But he pushed himself forward until he was stumbling into a surprisingly large cave.

            “Do you mind?” the voice said dryly from behind him.

            Turning, he saw the man was in the small entrance way, blocked in because Dorian hadn’t moved far enough in. “Sorry,” he muttered, moving so he could come in.

            The man didn’t say anything, easily getting through the entrance. He moved further into the cave and it allowed Dorian the chance to study him. Or attempt to because the man was covered head to toe in black battle fatigues. All he could really discern was that he was taller than him, had wide shoulders but the lean build that went with knowing how to use a bow, and he didn’t seem concerned with the fact that a complete stranger was at his back.

            “Thank you,” Dorian said, realising this man had just saved his life twofold, first with the quillback and then offering him shelter from the desert sun. Well, provided he was allowed to stay here.

            One hand made a sharp motion as if he was waving it off. “What in the fuck were you doing out there?” he demanded, slinging his bow and quiver off his shoulder. “Talking to a fucking quillback like it was a house cat.”

            “I was buying myself time,” Dorian said, offended suddenly.

            “The only thing you were buying was a ticket to the Void because you were giving the hyenas time to circle around you.”

            “Well at least I was lucky enough that you were watching over me.”

            The man pivoted slightly to look at him and Dorian didn’t know what to make of the fact that his head was wrapped in black cloth as well. “You aren’t even outfitted properly for crossing the Approach,” he growled. “Where’s your gear? Your weapons? Your fucking supplies?”

            He was rapidly growing more and more offended with every word that came out of the other man. The accent rolling over them was also thick, surely thicker than normal since the man was clearly pissed at him, so he had to think about the words to make sure he was hearing them right. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realise there were specifications for what you needed when you were fleeing for your life,” he said flatly.

             His saviour paused in reaching up for the glasses covering his eyes before slowly shaking his head. “What were you running from? Can I expect it on my doorstep?”

            “Possibly but you don’t have much of a door.”

            “That was the point. There’s very little in the Approach that can fit through that opening and most people will overlook it from the way the shadows fall on it.”

            Dorian let out a low breath and rubbed his hands over his face. “I’m not ungrateful,” he said lowly, “I could possibly be dead if you hadn’t stepped in, if not from the beast than from the Maker damned sun.”

            The glasses came off and were tucked in a pocket. “It’s possible. You were a long ways from anything that would have given you shelter and you don’t have anything to make one.”

            Well fuck.

            “What were you even doing out here?” the man asked, his hands lifting to start unwinding the cloth from around his head. “The only people this far out are either freelancers or the strange group on the edge of the canyon.”

            “I was formerly of the latter until I realised just how strange they actually are,” he admitted quietly.

            “Meaning you’re a mage.”

            The flat note in the voice made Dorian tense up. It wasn’t a tone he was used to. No one in Tevinter would ever say that word like that. Mages were the epitome of what everyone wanted to be in the north; the south, however, viewed mages like they had the plague. “I am. Wishing you’d left me to the quillback now?”

            “Not necessarily. I wasn’t about to let it eat you if I could do something about it. Not like you can help being a mage.”

            Dorian had to bite his tongue to keep from saying anything snarky about that. The man could kick him out still and he truly had no place to go. He would be safe here for the time being and he couldn’t afford to lose that. “No, I cannot,” he said quietly.

            The cloth came away and the man shook his hair out. It was heavily curled and fell across his lightly tanned and very freckled brow, barely moving as he blew on it in an attempt to get it to go away. He gestured at a pile of blankets and said, “Sit. You were out in the sun for longer than you should have been. If you pass out from sunstroke, it’ll be better if you’re closer to the ground and on something relatively soft.”

            Dorian glanced at the blankets. He did want to sit down but that looked like the only soft place in the whole of the cave and he didn’t want to take that away from- “Thank you,” he said again. “I’m Dorian P-“

            “Not to sound rude,” he cut in. “Your first name is enough but I probably won’t use it.”

            Frowning, he carefully crossed to the blankets and sank down. He was surprised to feel a bedroll underneath. It was nowhere near as plush as the one that he’d had at the camp but he wasn’t going to complain. It wasn’t sand or stone so it was a feather mattress as far as he was concerned right now. “Any particular reason for that?”

            The man sat down on a box, rolling an arrow between gloved hands as he watched Dorian. “I’m going to guess that as soon as the heat dies down a bit, you’re going to want to move on,” he said lowly. “Which means I won’t see you again, which means I don’t need to know your name.”

            “Except for the fact that I’m now in your debt because you saved me,” Dorian pointed out, removing his light pack and the outer layer of his clothing. It was drenched in sweat and would smell horrible when he put it back on, but there wasn’t much he could do about that. He spread it out on the cave floor and sighed deeply.

            “Don’t worry about it.”

            “I’m afraid I can’t do that. As much as I’d rather not be in anyone’s debt, I’m not about to forget about it when I am.”

            A thick brow cocked at him and his mouth twisted wryly. “Not much you can offer a man who lives in the middle of nowhere. Especially since everything you own is probably in that pack and you need it more than I do.”

            “If I happen to make it out of this desert, I’ll be able to get you whatever you want.”

            “I highly doubt that,” he muttered.

            “You’d be surprised at how resourceful I can be.”

            The man just shook his head. “Go to sleep,” he said quietly. “Don’t worry about water or a meal, you’ll have both when you wake and I’ll make sure it’s enough to get you out of the desert.”

            “Meaning I’ll owe you even more.”

            An aggravated sigh left his saviour and Dorian got a strange pleasure out of the sound.

            “Can I at least know your name?” he asked, his voice slurring slightly. He hadn’t realised how tired he was until he stopped moving. It had been nearly a day since he had gotten any sleep and the minimal amount of water he had consumed while out in the heat was catching up to him. “Or are you just going to be mystery saviour?”

            He was quiet for a long while and Dorian gave up on him answering.

            The blankets around him were surprisingly soft and even though they were warm it was comforting. There was also a scent rolling off of them that he was guessing was the other man’s and it was lulling him closer to sleep.

            “A bloody mage,” he heard the man mutter. “Of all the people I could have saved, it had to be a mage.”

            Dorian frowned at the irritation in his voice but he was too sleepy to say anything. But when he woke up, he’d give his saviour a piece of his mind.


	2. Burden

            “Wake up.”

            Jerking at the tense voice, Dorian blearily stared at the man leaning over him. “What do you want?” he asked moodily. He wasn’t done sleeping. He felt like he had a hangover straight from the depths of the Void. What had he been drinking? And why had he stopped?

            “Making sure you hadn’t died on me,” the voice said and Dorian felt something cool press to his forehead. “You’re still warm but I think that’s more a result of the heat out here, not your internal temperature.”

            “What in the world are you talking about?”

            The cool thing pulled away and he heard the gentle rustle of leather. “Do you remember where you are, Mage?” the voice asked quietly. “Do you remember running from your group? Talking to a quillback?”

            “’Maker’s tits, that wasn’t a dream?” Dorian groaned, the memory coming back to him.

            “Decidedly not. Here, you’re going to want this.”

            Cracking his eyes open, Dorian could barely get them to focus on the canteen being held out to him. “Is it safe to drink?” he asked warily.

            “It’s been boiled and then cooled so it’s good that way.”

            “Don’t you have a purification network?”

            “Do I look like I have a purification network?” he asked dryly.

            Dorian got his eyes to focus past the canteen and the gloved hand holding it on the man crouching beside him. “Decidedly not,” he muttered, taking the metal canister.

            He thought he heard a snort but the man pushed to his feet and walked back to the crate he’d been sitting on before Dorian had passed out. Dorian was sure it creaked under him which made no sense. The man was whipcord lean albeit with broad shoulders and heavily muscled arms. Made sense, given that he used a bow and in this day and Age you’d need a massive amount of strength to use the bows with enough force to be a legitimate weapon.

            Sitting up, he took a long drink of the water. It was tepid but it felt like sweet nectar on his throat after all of the dry air. He wasn’t sure how much he was allowed to drink and he’d finished half of it before he realised what he was doing. Lowering the canteen, he licked his lips, wincing as he felt how chapped they were. The nameless man was watching him, black eyes giving nothing away as to what he was thinking or feeling. “Thank you again for this,” he said quietly.

            The man brushed it off. “You still want to get out of the Approach?”

            “That is the plan,” Dorian said, setting aside the water and running his fingers through his hair. It was more a habit than anything else because he probably looked a mess and he didn’t think he had the time to fix it.

            The man sucked on his cheek, staring past Dorian. “What supplies did you grab before you ran?”

            “Is the fact that I’m a mage the reason you’re acting like you don’t want anything to do with me?” Dorian asked mildly.

            “I don’t want anything to do with you because you’ve got trouble stamped on your forehead,” he countered. “I’ve got enough trouble on my own without you adding to it.”

            “Running from the law are we?”

            An aggravated noise left the man and he pushed his hands through his hair. “My life is none of your business.”

            Dorian made a face at him. “Dark and mysterious only works so well if you truly commit to it. Living in a cave certainly helps, but that’s also what hermits do and they are definitely not dark and mysterious.”

            The man stared hard at him before shaking his head. “Why did I save you?” he muttered, pushing off the box to walk to the side of the cave.

            “I am rather dashing and witty.”

            “You were talking to a quillback as it was preparing to eat you. That’s neither dashing nor witty, it’s stupid.”

            “I’m positive we’ve had this conversation before.”

            No response came and Dorian watched as the man started taking items out of the boxes and containers along the cave wall. He placed them into meticulous piles before they went into a canvas bag. It gave him ample time to study his saviour but honestly there wasn’t much more to see. The clothes he was wearing looked like military grade fatigues but there were no markings on them to identify what faction he belonged to, or had once belonged to. The cloth had definitely faded from wear and sun exposure. He wasn’t close enough to see but he had a feeling that there were plenty of stitches in it to avoid having to get new ones. But the lack of heraldry did bother him. Even if he didn’t seem the type to murder someone he had saved, a person who ran under no colours at all was usually a loose cannon.

            Looking to his own bag, Dorian tugged it over to look at what supplies he did have. He’d been in almost a blind panic to get out of there as fast as he had that he wasn’t sure what he had grabbed. He knew that he had an extra canteen that was full of water and he had rationalized that if he got truly desperate he could attempt to summon ice to fill it, letting it melt inside the metal to refill that supply. He hadn’t liked the thought of using magic for something like that but it was better than attempting to drink from the sparse watering holes peppering the desert. There was a small leather case containing the few flasks of lyrium he’d been able to lift, hoping against hope that he wouldn’t have to use them because there was no way to replace them out here in the middle of nowhere. Field rations, strips of dried meat and a container of nuts and dried fruit. And a bottle of vintage Qarinus wine that he had refused to leave in the hands of those demented fools.

            It probably wasn’t enough to get him across the desert expanse, especially since he was positive the desert was much bigger than he remembered. He might have been dosing a bit through most of the trip out to their excavation site, having seen more than enough sand for the rest of his life. He’d wished he’d paid attention now but there was no helping it.

            He pulled out the map and a strip of meat, telling himself that he wasn’t going to think about what kind of meat it actually was. He needed the fuel and he could just think about it later. “If I asked you where we are, would you tell me?” he asked absently, opening up the map. Everything looked the same to him, sand, sand, a few rocks, a broken down fortress that had long since seen its glory days, more sand.

            There was a shuffling noise before the man was suddenly beside him. It was a little startling, not being able to hear him move. Especially since he wasn’t overly small. But he was looking at the map, dark eyes flicking over the points. “Here,” he said quietly, pointing to a spot on the map that looked like all the others.

            Dorian moodily chewed on the leathery meat. It wasn’t nearly as far away from his original camp as he would have liked. “And the nearest location out of here?”

            The gloved finger touched another spot and Dorian swore. “Two days,” the man said. “Provided you find shelter fast enough and don’t run into any more trouble. Which considering your luck, probably won’t happen.”

            “My luck brought me to you.”

            “You consider that luck?”

            “I’m currently out of the sun, safe enough for the moment, I hope, and am making plans to get as far away as possible. I consider myself very lucky indeed.” But he wasn’t sure how long that luck was going to last, not with how much distance he had to cover in order to make it out of here. “And I’m going to push my luck.”

            “No,” the man said automatically, standing swiftly.

            “You’ve saved me once. Would be a shame to see that go to waste by me dying out in the sand.”

            The man was shaking his head, his agitation clear. “No, I am not escorting you out of the Western Approach,” he said firmly. “It is not happening.”

            “Then why save me in the first place if you’re just going to let me go back out there.”

            “You don’t think you can cross the desert on your own? If that’s the case, why did you even leave in the first place?” he demanded.

            “You don’t seem to have a very high opinion of mages but even we have standards. What I saw back there,” Dorian said lowly, “is not magic that should be practised by anyone and I will have no part in it. I would rather not die wandering the ass end of Thedas, but it is preferable to what awaits me in that fucking camp.”

            The man was breathing hard as he paced and Dorian was suddenly reminded of a feral wild cat he had seen once. It had been caged and put on display in Minrathous, a prize brought back from Seheron. The thing had been mad, huffing and puffing as it paced back and forth behind the bars. It had been a creature very much out of place and put on display for the amusement of his countrymen.

            _“Look at the savage beast! Can you believe this is what’s waiting in the fog? Along with those grey skinned bastards.”_

_“The coat is amazing. Can you imagine what that would look like draped around your neck?”_

_“Are you going to get close enough to touch it?”_

            A wild beast. He’d seen one then and he was looking at one now. He very well may be pushing his luck in asking for help from this man. But what other choice did he have? He very much doubted that he was going to be able to make it out of here without help. “Will you help me?”

            A steady stream of curses spewed from the man’s mouth and his pacing grew even more intense. “What is there in it for me? You said yourself you’re running from the people you came here with. You’ve got nothing to pay me with, nothing that I could possibly want. What good does it do me to help you?”

            “What good did it do you to save me in the first place?” Dorian countered. “There was nothing to be earned from it except witty banter and the pleasure of my presence. Neither of which you could have known when you saved me. So I ask you, what profit was there to be had in saving me from the quillback?”

            “Momentary insanity,” he snapped.

            It didn’t seem like it was so momentary. But if he needed payment there was one thing he could offer. His gut clenched at the mere thought of giving it away, of selling it…but he needed out of the desert. Once he was out, once he had found some way of supporting himself, he could come back. “I don’t have much of worth,” Dorian admitted, “except for this.”

            The man barely turned to look. “A necklace isn’t going to do me much good out here.”

            “It’s a Birthright,” he said. “It might not mean much to you but there are plenty of people in the south who would kill for one of these. It declares them as part of my family and thus gives them rights to trade and deal with Tevinter. That would mean less than nothing to you because you’re clearly not in trade, but there’s a thousand people that would pay you whatever you want to have it.”

            He was jerking his head, shaking it back and forth. “Do you even know what’s out there?” he demanded. “What you would need to cross the sand?”

            “A guide for starters because I can’t read this map.”

            “This is not the time for fucking jokes,” he snapped. “You’re asking me to risk my life for you, for a bauble that I may or may not be able to sell at the edge of the sands. I’m not risking myself for that!”

            “Then why save me?” Dorian demanded, pushing to his feet. “What possible purpose could you have to save me? What good does it do anyone to send me out into the wastes of this desert to die when you saved me in the first place?”

            “I don’t know!” he shouted. “Maybe I’ve seen the desert claim too many but you’re clearly a waste of my time and effort! I should have let the quillback have you!”

            “So be it,” Dorian said, stooping down to grab his things.

            “What are you doing?”

            “Leaving,” he said flatly. “You won’t help me, I can’t stay here so that leaves only one option. I’m going.”

            The man didn’t say anything but Dorian could feel his eyes on him.

            “Thank you for saving my life,” Dorian said. “I am in your debt and if I could I would pay you back. But it seems that at this time I have nothing that you want. If for whatever reason I find myself in this ass backwards place again, perhaps I’ll pay you back then.”

            He glanced at the other man and saw that he was staring at him, thick brows drawn together. “You won’t last an hour out there,” he said lowly.

            “Not your problem, Mysterious Saviour Man. Good day. Or night as it were,” Dorian said in farewell, walking toward the small exit.

            Wedging himself through the narrow passage, Dorian was ridiculously glad that the sun had set. He didn’t know how long he had stayed in the cave but since it was in such a ridiculously hidden spot he was sure that he’d have a bit of time before anyone came looking for him. If they’d come at all. They might just assume he’d been eaten by a random creature in the desert and wasn’t their problem anymore. He wasn’t anyone’s problem but his own and that was nothing new.

            Taking a moment to orient himself, he searched the night sky for a constellation he knew. They looked so strange from the south, nothing like the shapes he remembered. But he needed to go north-east to reach the spot that had been pointed to on his map. Once he got somewhere he could rest again, he would make a mark on it so that he wouldn’t lose sight of where he needed to go.

            He tugged his jacket on as he started off, following what he desperately hoped was the point of Judex. That pointed in a vaguely north-eastern direction. Slinging his bag over his shoulder, he tried not to think about how dumb all of this really was. He had abandoned his countrymen, the only people that would have kept him alive out here. If he’d been able to swallow his fear and horror, he could have remained there…to what? Be the one that held the knife? To be the one on the altar when it became apparent he wanted nothing to do with any of this?

            No, he had made the right choice in leaving. Even if he died in this god forsaken wasteland, he had made the right choice. But he needed to get out, needed to warn…who? And would anyone believe him? He was a Vint in a land that hated Vints. He was in bloody Orlais, the back end of it, the part that had never recovered from the Fury Age. He had come here willingly, to save a friend but he wasn’t sure there was any saving Alexius now, not if he was caught up in this blood magic and darker things that hadn’t been seen in a dozen Ages.

            Marching forward, Dorian muttered to himself as he walked. Repeating old lessons, old stories, anything to keep his mind off of where he was. But it only served to remind him that for everything he had learned, he had never been taught how to survive on his own. Why would he need to be taught that? He was supposed to be safe and pampered in the University of Minrathous, working under Magister Alexius to further their research. But he’d squandered it and everything else in his life so maybe it was divine providence that he had wound up here. Perhaps this was the result of all the bad decisions he had made in his life. But wasn’t the Maker about redemption? How was he supposed to redeem if he died in the middle of fucking nowhere?

            “Keep walking, Pavus,” he said quietly, his gaze scanning the area around him. “Keep walking until you can’t walk anymore.”

            “Do you often talk when you shouldn’t?”

            Dorian whipped around, one hand coming up and a blast of fire leaving him before he could think about it. “Kaffas!” he said sharply as he saw the man coming up from a roll in the sand. “You can’t fucking do that!”

            The man dusted himself off, shaking sand out of his clothes. “You don’t pay enough attention to what’s behind you,” he said simply. “You should have known I was following you.”

            “Considering the fact that I had no reason to think you were following me, no I shouldn’t have.” Except he was right. His true enemies were behind him and he should be more aware of what was behind. “What are you doing here?”

            “I don’t like you,” he said flatly. “I really don’t, but…you aren’t going to last long out here on your own.”

            “Oh ye of little faith,” Dorian muttered.

            “You have no idea.”


	3. Bandits

            “Stay down!”

            Dorian grit his teeth at the growl, wanting nothing more than to do something childish like stand up or throw sand or anything other than continue to lie down in the sand. But there was a firm hand between his shoulder blades, keeping him from moving. In fact, he was sure there was sand now in his mouth and in his nose and every place it wasn’t supposed to be. “I don’t-”

            “Be quiet,” Freckles hissed.

            Slightly turning his head, Dorian glared at him but he wasn’t looking. He was staring out at the dunes, his expression tight. “What is it?” he growled.

            Dark eyes snapped to him. “Can’t you see them?” he demanded.

            “With my face pressed into the sand?” Dorian asked dryly.

            A stream of words left him before his finger jabbed out. “There.”

            Dorian squinted in the early morning light, trying to spot what he had seen. “The black things?” he said hesitantly.

            Freckles sighed. “Those black things are actually bandits,” he said tightly. “And the way my luck seems to be running, there is probably at least one Templar with them.”

            “And?”

            “Did you look up anything before you came South or did you just assume that everything was the same?” he growled. “That Templar is rogue and will destroy you if he sees you.”

            “And what says that we couldn’t destroy him first?”

            “Have you fought a Templar before? Because he sure as shit has fought mages dumb enough to just charge at him.”

            Dorian’s irritation sparked to life. “I never said anything about just charging right at him,” he said flatly. “I have magic, you have arrows. There is no reason to get anywhere close to him.”

            “They have guns,” Freckles said hotly. “And that is a Templar that will know you’re using magic before it gets to him. Which means they will find us and attempt to kill us.”

            “I think you’re selling us short,” Dorian muttered. “But by all means, let’s bury our heads in the sand and wait for them to pass.”

            “From the man having a conversation with-”

            “A quillback, yes, I know. I was there believe it or not.”

            Freckles grunted and Dorian wondered if he was considering pushing him into the sand again. He wouldn’t put it past him. The man had a decidedly short amount of patience where anything seemed to be concerned and Dorian was most certainly concerning. Although, he didn’t know why he felt the need to constantly question the other’s decisions. Maybe it was because he kept making them without talking to Dorian first about it. He’d hardly protest most of the things Freckles had done, seeing them as logical solutions to their problems, but he was simply being told what to do. The last time that had happened, he had watched a man be cut to pieces in the name of something he hadn’t quite caught. He didn’t like being caught unawares and he wanted to know what was going on around him.

            Was that really too much to ask?

            Taking a deep breath and reminding himself that this man was helping him against his better judgement, Dorian quietly said, “Do we wait here for them to pass or did you want to try to move on?”

            Dark eyes looked at him in surprise, as if Dorian being agreeable was that surprising. “There’s not really enough cover here to hide,” he said slowly, looking around, “but that also means sneaking past them is virtually not an option.”

            “What do we do then?”

            He sucked on his cheek as he stared into the distance. “We move but we keep it slow.”

            “Aren’t they likely to have friends in the dunes?”

            “Most definitely,” Freckles said, picking up his bow and fitting an arrow to it. “So when I tell you to run, fucking do it.”

            “And where am I running to?” Dorian asked dryly, picking himself out of the sand as Freckles started to move.

            One gloved hand pointed into the distance. “Closest town is that way,” he said. “Go that way and don’t stop.”

            Dorian didn’t like the thought of leaving him behind. Templar or no Templar, Dorian wasn’t going to just abandon him to his fate. He might not want to attract the attention of his former colleagues but he wasn’t going to just leave a man to die while he ran into the distance. He felt magic spark to life in him at the thought before he instantly squashed it down. That wasn’t a natural response, not in the slightest and it caused more pain than he cared to admit. He’d been taught from a young age to ride the flows of his mana, to work with the tides of his magic to get better results. Shoving it away to not draw attention was so against everything he knew it was physically painful.

            A shudder wound through him. He’d heard tell that some Southern mages actually did this on a regular basis. How could they ever think of doing that? He knew the situation was different down here but who would ever do it willingly? But for now he would choke on it if it meant they got through this without incident.

            Besides, the implants in his skin would allow him to rebound quicker than a normal mage would from something like that. But better to keep that ace up his sleeve for the moment. Southerners…were very touchy when it came to magic and he wasn’t sure Freckles would like knowing that he was enhanced the way he was. He already didn’t like him, no need to give him more reasons to dislike him.

            Creeping behind Freckles, Dorian felt his heart start to pound as they advanced on the bandits. He’d never done anything like this before. Sure, there had been threats to his bodily person in Tevinter, usually for overstepping his bounds, but his name and position at the university had protected him to quite the degree. Out here? There was nothing to protect him but his wits and his magic and a freckly man with a bow who might possibly turn his next arrow on Dorian.

            It was exhilarating and terrifying all at the same time and he wasn’t sure how he actually felt about it.

            When Freckles stopped abruptly, Dorian nearly slammed into him, not ready for it at all. But he could feel the tension radiating off of the other man and he knew they were in trouble. “Did you use magic?” he asked lowly.

            “No.”

            “Not even a slight bit?”

            “No.”

            Freckles was very still for a long moment before he swore shortly under his breath. “Implants? Do you have implants?”

            Dorian blinked in surprise. “Yes, but what does-”

            “Get down!” Freckles shouted, shoving him into the sand while he dove for it as well.

            Before Dorian could demand to know what was going on, he felt the bullets rip through the air, passing through the place he had just been standing. “What-”

            “Residual magic in the fucking implants,” Freckles snapped, levering up and firing off a shot before he was rolling in the sand again. “The Templar can fucking feel it!”

            Dorian stared for a moment longer before he rolled from his spot as bullets got too close for his liking. He heard the bowstring sing again before an explosion came. He looked up to see several men on fire in the distance, but still a good many of them charging forward toward where they were.

            “Run!” Freckles shouted.

            “Fuck your running!” Dorian growled, releasing his mana and letting it flood the implants. One hand came up and the fire that had been starting to fade roared back to life, spreading in lines and circles out from its source. He heard screams as it licked at flesh but he didn’t linger on it. A quick jerk of his hand had fire mines embedding themselves under the sand, waiting to be stepped on and coating the offender in flames.

            “I told you to run!” Freckles yelled at him.

            “Go fuck yourself,” Dorian snapped, throwing out his hand to conjure barriers around the both of them. Just in time as bullets bounced off of it as he pushed himself out of the sand.

            “Get down!”

            Dorian didn’t bother wasting his breath telling Freckles to shut up. His mana was surging, amplified by the implants, and he was not going to go down without a fight. Fire nearly rained from the sky as he pulled it from the shots Freckles kept firing, manipulating it to do what he wanted. Men continued to scream as clothes caught on fire, no amount of patting putting it out as his magic fuelled it. Their distraction gave him the chance to take them down or for Freckles to hit them with an arrow.

            But there was one man who didn’t seem to even notice the fire, his gaze locked firmly on Dorian as he charged. There was a wicked looking serrated blade in his hand and an even meaner look on his face. Dorian didn’t need a vivid imagination to know what he was going to do with that if he got close enough and Dorian wasn’t going to let that happen.

            A brief well of panic flared in him when the man seemed to shrug aside the fire Dorian threw at him, it barely phasing him at all.

            “That’s the Templar!” Freckles shouted. “Don’t fucking engage him!”

            What else was he supposed to do?! The man was running right at him, shrugging off attacks left, right and centre and he didn’t see Freckles suggesting something else! “What do you fucking feed your Templars?!” Dorian demanded, stumbling back a step as the panic came back.

            “Lyrium!”

            Well that wasn’t fucking helpful at all! “Why would you fucking do that?!”

            Freckles made an aggravated noise. “Pay attention!”

            He was! The Templar-Maker’s balls, the man was huge!-was still bearing down on him and Dorian wasn’t sure what he could do to stop him. No way could he overpower the man, magic was his weapon. He’d been trained to use other means to defend himself but it wasn’t like there was a quarterstaff just lying around or that it would hold up against that fucking machete!

            The Templar man-beast was close enough Dorian could see the vicious scar bisecting his face and the shit eating grin below it. He thought he was going to get the mage, going to kill Dorian because he couldn’t defend himself.

            And he might be right.

            “He’ll smite you if he gets closer, fucking run, you idiot!”

            Perhaps that was good advice. Dorian scrambled across the sand, hating the thought of giving that particular enemy his back but he wasn’t sure what else he could honestly do. But he hesitated when he saw Freckles wasn’t moving, was lining up a shot on the behemoth.

            “Go!” he snapped.

            Where was he supposed to honestly go? He didn’t know the way and he was probably as good as dead out on the sands by himself. Running a short distance behind Freckles, he threw out his hand again, strengthening the barrier around the archer. It probably wouldn’t help if the Templar kept after Dorian but he wasn’t going to just leave the man defenceless.

            “Fucking hermit bastard!” he heard a rough voice shout. “Got a thing for the pretty ones?! Been hiding him in your little cave hole?!”

            If Freckles answered, Dorian didn’t hear it but he watched in sick horror as the other man dodged the swing of the machete, smoothly rolling to his feet with bow drawn taught. His horror grew as he released the shot, directly into the Templar’s face.

            The man screamed for a moment before whatever was on the end of the arrow exploded and took his head with it.

            Freckles didn’t gloat over the kill, smoothly turning to look at the other bandits. Or he would have if it hadn’t been for the explosion that rocked him back into the sand.

            Dorian felt his barrier dissipate, a yell on his lips as he saw a bandit looming over Freckles. His hand came up, magic swelling inside him even as the bandit swung down with his own machete. The fire struck him square in the chest but not before his blade sank into the arms Freckles had lifted to shield himself with. He screamed once before Freckles surged to his feet, hands grasping his skull and turning sharply to snap the enemy’s neck.

            Scrambling back to him, Dorian felt his panic come back. He wasn’t talented in healing arts, didn’t have the patience for the meticulous spells that needed to be learned to be proficient in the art. He wasn’t going to be able to help Freckles save maybe cauterizing the wound to keep it from getting infected. But he still demanded, “Let me see your arms!”

            Freckles pulled back from him immediately. “I’m fine.”

            “Bullshit!” Dorian spat. “I saw him strike you! I saw that blade hit you! Show me your arms!”

            “No.”

            “Don’t be childish! This isn’t about disliking magic, it’s about your own health. I don’t care if you don’t like me or my magic but you have to at least like your own limbs!”

            “This isn’t about you or magic or whether I like myself or not,” Freckles insisted. “I’m fine.”

            Dorian ground his teeth together before surging forward. He hadn’t expected it to work but surprise was on his side as he took the both of them into the sand. Before Freckles could shove him off, Dorian grabbed his arm and tore open his sleeve further. He froze instantly at what he saw.

            “Fucking Void,” Freckles spat, damn near throwing Dorian off of him in his shock. “If I say I’m alright, I’m fucking alright.”

            He couldn’t stop staring. Where there should have been flesh there’d only been metal. Sheets of it overlapping to form a forearm when it should have been sinew and bone. “You’re a bionic,” he said softly.

            Dark eyes were damn near feral as they looked at him. “Yes, I am,” he spat. “A fact I prefer to keep to myself as we’re seen as less than even mages in the south. Not that it seems to matter since everyone always fucking finds out whether I want them to or not.”

            Dorian flinched slightly. It wasn’t any better in the North honestly. Any bionic would argue that their prosthesis was not that much different from the implants the nobles paid thousands of dollars to embed in their flesh, but it just wasn’t true. Or at least no one ever admitted that it was. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

            “I don’t want your pity,” Freckles snarled, scooping up his bow. “Not some fancy pillow biter from the North who thinks he knows the world. Do you know what Templars do to mages in this place? Do you know how long they can keep a mage alive despite smiting them on a constant basis? Do you?!”

            Of course he didn’t. He had come down here on a work visa with a group from a prestigious university. They had been guarded and pampered even in the middle of nowhere. Their guards were elite and knew that they couldn’t allow anything to happen to the mages. Not if they wanted to get paid. “No.”

            Freckles took a deep breath, letting it out harshly. “What are you even doing here?” he finally asked.

            “Apparently being nothing more than a pain in your ass.”

            Those dark eyes flickered with what Dorian thought was humour before he looked away. “I’m sorry,” he finally said, his voice quietly. “You didn’t know and it’s not fair to shout at you when you were only trying to help. I…I don’t like people knowing I have them.”

            Them? Dorian’s stomach sank as he realised that Freckles wore gloves on both hands, meaning both arms were bionics. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, you’re not the only one that sets off metal detectors at airports.”

            A faint smile curled Freckles’ mouth before he sighed. “We need to keep moving. The rest of this group will come looking once they don’t radio in and I want to be long gone from here by then.”

            Dorian agreed. “Are we not going to see if any of them were carrying anything valuable?”

            “Do you want to carry it through the sand?”

            “Lead on, Freckles.”


	4. Blunder

            Dorian stared at the shanty town in front of him before looking at Freckles. “You can’t be serious. What is that?”

            “Your way out of the desert,” Freckles said. “If you want to get out of here alive, this is the only place you’re going to do it from. If you want to get picky about its appearance, good luck. There’s nothing else between here and the end of the desert that isn’t going to chew you up and spit you out.”

            Well, wasn’t he optimistic. “You’re sure that I can actually find someone to get me back to civilization in there?”

            “Yes.”

            “Yes? That’s it?” Dorian said warily.

            Freckles ran a hand over his hair before sighing and shaking his head. “The less you know about it, the better. For you.”

            “No,” Dorian said firmly as Freckles started off and he stayed right where he was. “I made the mistake of taking someone’s word for it and wound up in the middle of the desert, watching my supposed colleagues sacrificing living people to some god that is dead and gone. And I’ve known him for years. I’ve known you for a handful of days so I can only imagine what’s waiting for me in that desert death trap.”

            He stopped and looked back at Dorian. “Do you want to get out of here or not?”

            “I am not walking into another situation blind. Since the last one landed me in this mess, I’d like to avoid a second one. If you don’t mind.” He tried not to sound tart but he knew he had failed when Freckles brows dropped over his eyes.

            “I have an agreement with a trader in that shanty town,” he finally said. “I can help barter for your transport out of the desert.”

            “At what cost?” Dorian said, frowning. He already owed this Freckles more than he could pay back. Even with giving him his Birthright.

            “Don’t worry about it. We have a deal.” When Dorian still didn’t move, Freckles muttered something short and sharp under his breath. “There are herbs and plants that are specific to this area that don’t grow anywhere else, but most merchants refuse to come out here because of the bandits and the wildlife. They pay good coin for it or in goods that are hard to get. I’ll have to bring in a double shipment but they’ll take it and take you out for it.”

            “And those bandits?” Dorian asked quietly.

            “There are bandits everywhere, Fancy Pants,” Freckles muttered. “Gathering a few extra plants isn’t going to change that.”

            Dorian pursed his lips but he followed Freckles this time when he started walking again. He had a feeling their encounter with the bandits wasn’t going to make it easier for Freckles to find these plants. “You’re sure?”

            “Don’t worry about it, Fancy Pants.”

            “Fancy Pants?” Dorian echoed. “Clearly you haven’t seen enough if you think these are fancy.”

            Freckles chuckled slightly. “I’ve seen more than enough,” he said quietly. “And you can’t tell me that Antivan samite weave isn’t fancy for the area.”

            “Well….” He had a point. They weren’t exactly desert fashion. That was for sure. “Wait, how do you know what my pants are made of?”

            He just smiled. “Come on,” Freckles murmured, “let’s get you out of here.”

            “Thank you for this,” Dorian said after a few moments had passed. “I know you didn’t have to help me.”

            Freckles shrugged. “That’s me. I’m a helper.”

            He wasn’t so sure about that. But Dorian followed him toward the shacks. After everything they had gone through, surely this couldn’t be any worse than that. He just needed to get out of here and go…where? Where was he supposed to go? He couldn’t go back to Tevinter when he was running away from his own countrymen. How was he supposed to go back when this was supposed to get him back into the university? How was this supposed to get him back into his research position? How had he thought any of this was a good idea, even if Felix had begged him to find out what was going on?

            “What’s wrong?”

            “Why do you think anything is wrong?”

            “Because you haven’t let me have the last word on anything since we met and you didn’t say anything.”

            “Am I that easy to read? Is a hermit in the middle of the desert so world knowing that he’s only known me for a few days and he’s already got me figured out?”

            “See? That right there is what I would consider normal for you. You didn’t do that so I assumed something was wrong.” Freckles threw him a look. “Was I wrong?”

            “No,” Dorian admitted. “Where am I supposed to go? I’m a long way from home and if there’s one thing I know about the south it is that you do not like Tevinter. Where am I supposed to go that that’s any different? Because I am not going to be able to get back to Tevinter without any money or connections.”

            Freckles sucked on his cheek. “You’re resourceful. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

            Dorian appreciated the confidence but he knew coin bought more than confidence ever would. He was giving Freckles his Birthright so he wouldn’t have anything to barter with once he was out of the desert. He hadn’t expected so many problems but he should have. What did he think was going to happen once he got out of here? That he’d magically find a solution to all of his problems once sand wasn’t one of them anymore?

            He shoved it down when they approached one of the shanty shacks. He needed to think about it, but right now he needed to get out of the desert. That was his main problem right now. If he could fix that, he could fix the other ones.  And Freckles hadn’t betrayed him yet.

            Freckles lifted his hand to knock before he paused and looked at Dorian. “Why don’t you wander for a bit?” he said quietly.

            Dorian pulled back slightly. “Pardon?”

            “It’ll be easier to barter for your passage if you aren’t there.”

            Dorian just stared at him. What was that supposed to mean?

            “Just take a walk, Fancy Pants. Keep your head down if you can and don’t rile people up. This shouldn’t take long and then you can get out of here.”

            “Perhaps it’ll be better if I just wait outside. I seem to have a bad habit of attracting trouble.”

            Freckles chuckled faintly. “You’re probably right.”

            Watching as he knocked again, Dorian felt unease ripple over him. Freckles was the only person he knew in this place and he was about to be alone. The thought was not comforting at all, especially when he was sure everyone in this shanty town was staring at him. From behind closed doors and whatever passed for curtains in this place. He couldn’t imagine they got a lot of visitors that they didn’t know and he stuck out like a sore thumb. “Freckles, perhaps I should have-”

            The door of the shack opened a fraction of an inch. “You’re early,” a scratchy voice said from behind it.

            “Need something,” Freckles said shortly.

            “What’s that?”

            Dorian stiffened as he realised the question was directed at him but he didn’t say anything, clamping his lips shut. He needed out of this desert and this person was apparently the only one that could help him. Correcting his grammar was probably not going to help him much

            Freckles didn’t even look at him. “Let me in, Graves,” he said lowly. “We don’t talk business through a door.”

            “’e can’t come in.”

            “He wasn’t going to.”

            A grunt came from the other side of the door before it opened just enough for Freckles to slip through. And now Dorian was alone.

            He stared at the door for a long moment, wondering if he’d get into trouble if he got closer. He wanted to know what was being said on the other side of that wooden plank but at the same time he didn’t. He just wanted out. He wanted to go home. He wanted something normal again.

            Sighing deeply, he wondered if going home was honestly the best thing to do. He wouldn’t be quiet about what he saw, how could he when it went against everything he had ever been taught? But who would believe him, the disgraced teaching student against his magister sponsor. This was supposed to be the expedition that got him back into the university to continue his research but he wanted nothing to do with what had happened in the desert. If that’s what was going to give him an edge, he’d rather live in the gutter. But Alexius had the sympathy of so many with the death of his wife and the looming death of his son. No one was going to listen to him.

            He made a face at himself. What was that? Just because no one was going to listen didn’t mean that he could just curl up and not speak out about it. He was obligated to tell someone about what he’d seen, to tell as many someones as he possibly could because one of them was bound to listen to him. And all he needed was that one, just one person to believe him and then they could go from there. He had never given up before, he wasn’t going to start now when that level of blood magic was being actively practised

            Looking around the area when he heard quiet voices, he moved closer to the house, pressing his back against it. There were a few people wandering now and if he’d learned anything about the desert, it was better not to give anyone an opening. He could hear quiet voices from inside, but he forced himself not to listen. The conversation concerned him but he had bigger issues. Like making sure he survived long enough to see the benefits of that conversation.

            But he definitely wasn’t used to this, wasn’t used to constantly being on edge and viewing everyone around him as a potential threat. He’d been in situations that hadn’t been great, but he had never had to actually fear for his life before and that seemed to be the constant state everyone lived in out here. How did anyone honestly survive like that?

            He watched the people as they went about their lives, wondering how they could survive out here. Did all of them live on some kind of shady deal with those that went out into the sands? Or did they find other ways to support themselves, doing what they could in order to live?

            That thought made his heart heavy because what was there out here that someone could do that wasn’t paid in some form of blood?

            Dorian shook his head, pushing the thought down. He didn’t need to think about that right now. If Freckles managed to get him out, he needed to focus on other things. Like what he himself was going to do to make sure that he survived. So far he’d been incredibly lucky and he didn’t need that to-

            “You’re not from around here.”

            Turning at the voice, Dorian told himself to be calm as he saw the man standing only a few feet away from him. “No. I’m only passing through.” He didn’t really want to talk to anyone but he got the feeling that he’d cause more of a problem if he ignored someone talking to him.

            Dark eyes narrowed at him, flicking to the door beside him. “You have dealings with Graves?”

            “My friend does. I’m waiting for him.”

            That gaze moved over him slowly. “Graves himself is harmless,” he said slowly. “You don’t look harmless.”

            How could he not look harmless? He was in clothes that were ragged from running through the desert since they were clearly not suited to the climate. He felt like he’d been run into the sand more times than he could count and a slight breeze could knock him over. He wasn’t even visibly armed. “I’m simply passing through,” he repeated.

            The man made a noise as he sucked on his cheek, his gaze not leaving Dorian. “See that that’s all you do,” he muttered, moving away.

            Dorian watched him go, his heart pounding in his chest. What was that about? He understood that small towns usually banded together to keep themselves safe but he was merely standing here. He wasn’t making a scene or drawing attention to himself. He was standing and minding his own business. But the encounter didn’t seem to have gone too badly so perhaps he was still alright.

            He still considered knocking on the door and asking Freckles if he was going to be much longer. He was a sitting duck out here. He could certainly defend himself, but he’d rather not have to. He was tired, hungry, and just wanted to be left alone. He wasn’t going to start anything with anyone around him, was it too much to ask that the same courtesy be given to him?

            Apparently. Everyone that passed him gave him a wide berth and threw him looks that weren’t even thinly veiled in their contempt and dislike of him. Was there something about his person that was offensive to them or was it like this with everyone in general? Or was there something about the fact that he was standing outside of this Graves’ house that was the problem?

            “Come on, Freckles,” Dorian muttered. He felt more in danger standing here than when he did standing in front of that quillback. At least the beast was predictable. These people? Maker only knew what they were likely to do.

            He slowly stiffened when he heard the heavy steps coming toward him. He hadn’t heard them often, but he had spent several nights in camp listening to them move around outside of his tent. Those were the steps of a soldier. Those were not good steps.

            Dorian slowly looked in their direction and his stomach dropped to his boots. Body armour, fatigues, gun, machete on the hip, sun burst on one of the chest pockets. Templar. Coming straight to him. Swallowing, he briefly considered going into the shack, demanding to get the fuck out of this place, but the soldier came upon him too fast for him to do anything. “Good day,” Dorian said quietly, keeping his voice as even as he could.

            “I was told you’re being suspicious,” the templar said without any preamble. “What is your business here?”

            Suspicious? He was standing still! “Seeking passage out of the desert.”

            “How are you seeking passage standing outside?”

            “My partner is making the deal. I was told to wait here.”

            The templar’s hand shifted on the grip of his machete. “You’re not from here.”

            “No.” He wasn’t about to admit he was from Tevinter to a Southern Templar. He’d been warned multiple times to not expect them to be the same and telling one he was a mage was just asking for trouble. Well, more trouble than he already seemed to be in.

            “No?” the templar echoed. “Do you know who you’re talking to, Mage?”

            Kaffas. “You’re a templar,” he said, his voice still even. “As you haven’t introduced yourself, I don’t know your rank or the proper address to use.”

            His eyes narrowed. “Are you sassing me?”

            “Believe me, if I was, you’d know.” Dorian nearly bit his tongue as the words rolled off of it. That was not what he’d meant to say. That was not what one said when you weren’t trying to antagonize someone else.

            The grip was definitely tighter on the machete now. “Watch it, mage. There’s been a lot of changes in our rules in the past weeks. You’d do well to remember that.”

            Rules? He didn’t know the rules that Southern mages lived by. How could he remember something he didn’t even know? “Of course.”

            “You’re coming with me,” the templar said, reaching out with his free hand toward Dorian.

            His mana surged to life, the implants in his skin crackling immediately. “For what reason?” Dorian asked, moving out of reach of him. “I’ve done nothing beyond stand here.”

            “You don’t make the rules. If I want to take you into custody, I am within my rights to as a templar.”

            “And I’m within my rights to know why I’m being taken into custody,” Dorian said, refusing to back down on this. He hadn’t done anything and he refused to be taken away by anyone when he was so close to getting out of here. “If you don’t give me a reason, I am not going with you.”

            The machete hissed as the templar drew it and slowly advanced on him. “You’re a mage. You don’t have rights.”

            The barrier slid over his skin without a second thought, the spell ingrained in the implants and a natural response to his elevated heart rate. “I am a human being before I am a mage,” he said lowly, “and I am not going with you.”

            The templar’s lips pulled back in a snarl. “That’s what you think.”

            Dorian moved back sharply as the man swung his machete, the blade just missing the barrier and him. Fire sparked between his fingertips and he launched it at the templar. He saw him flinch but he didn’t stop coming toward Dorian. If they were anywhere else, he would have simply covered the fool in fire but, even if they had it out for him, he wasn’t going to hurt the people in this shanty town. A fool on fire could do a lot of damage to a dry and brittle wooden town.

            A cold feeling ripped through him when he saw the horrible smirk pulling at the templar’s mouth. But he was too far away to actually reach Dorian and he hadn’t drawn his gun. There was nothing he could do from this distance unless he threw the machete and that wouldn’t be the smartest thing to do.

            Before he could cast another spell, his stomach heaved as he felt the barrier dissolve suddenly. But more than that, he felt his mana drain, his implants empty of their reservoir. His magic was gone. He frantically reached for it, panic flaring through him when he couldn’t touch it. Half turning, he saw a second man outfitted the same as the one in front of him, a smirk on his lips. “What did-“ He cut off when something cracked the back of his skull and drove him to his knees.

            “You mages never learn,” the second one said, walking toward him even as the first roughly shoved him into the sand.

            Dorian felt a boot press into his back, forcing him deeper into the sand and what little air had been in his lungs was driven from him. There was sand in his mouth as his arms were bound behind him and he couldn’t get a proper breath. What was that? What had they done to him? He grimaced and coughed as a hand fisted in his hair and lifted his head.

            The second templar was crouched in front of him, looking at him coldly. “We are specifically trained to take your kind down,” he said lowly. “You’ll never be able to beat us when we can strip your only weapon away from you. Normally, I’d just cut out your tongue and I might still do that, but after everything that’s happened, you’re going to be the example of why mages are supposed to fear us.”


	5. Templars

            The first thing Dorian realised was that he was still alive. There was no way someone could ache this much and be dead. That wouldn’t be fair. Although he certainly knew life was anything but fair when you wanted it to be.

            But gradually the faint delight at not being dead started to trickle away. There was too much pain. His back was straining, his arms suspended from the ceiling with chains? When had that happened?”

            He barely bit back a groan as his memories didn’t trickle back to him. They came back with the force of a punch to the gut. Which felt like had already happened while he’d been unconscious. Templars. He had been caught by templars.

            Licking dry lips, Dorian tried not to draw too much attention to himself. He could vaguely hear voices close by and he had no desire to be the focus of their conversation. There was too much he had to figure out, too much he didn’t have answers for. He needed to think, needed to focus, needed to get out of here, wherever here was.

            He’d been in the shanty town, minding his own business before he’d been accosted by the templars. And they had done something to him, something to his magic. But as he became more and more aware, he had a sick feeling he knew what had happened. It wasn’t something that would ever happen in the North, but it was something that was talked about.

            The ability to drain magic from a mage and make them incapable to cast any spells. A smite. He’d heard tales of southern mages living in fear of their templars but he hadn’t understood it. How could he when he’d never encountered anything like it before? The closest he’d come was when he’d gotten his implants and his magic had been put into remission for the procedure. But when he’d woken up it had been there, stronger than ever.

            Now he had nothing and it made him wonder if he’d been unconscious for only a short period of time or if they’d done it again. Not that it mattered either way. He needed to get out of here, needed to get back to the shanty town and his way out of the desert.

            But how did he do that when he didn’t know where he was or how many of them there were? He hadn’t even realised there were two templars to begin with so he didn’t need to underestimate them here. Not if they had taken him to their base or lair or whatever this was.

            Cracking his eyes open slightly, he was disappointed when he couldn’t see much beyond the dull yellow and brown of sand and stone. That didn’t help him. Rolling his head back slightly, he stared up at his hands. They were caught in a pair of chains that were attached to a steel spike driven into the stone above his head. Definitely another cave. What was it with the people in the desert and caves?

            Dorian closed his eyes again and told himself to be calm. This was a bad situation but it wasn’t the absolute worst he could be in. It could become that if he wasn’t careful and he didn’t have the best track record with being careful. He needed to remember this wasn’t Tevinter and he didn’t have a magister watching over him. He just needed to keep breathing and counting the minutes until his magic came back. Surely it wouldn’t take that much longer.

            His breath froze in his lungs when he heard a chair scrape against the ground and heavy footsteps come toward him. He didn’t have time to drop his head so he left it where it was, lolling back against his arms, and kept his eyes slitted so he wouldn’t completely give himself away. But keeping his breathing even was a much harder task.

            The steps circled him slowly and it made his heart beat frantically in his chest. What was he doing? What was he thinking?

            “Stop pretending,” the man said lowly. “I know you’re awake.”

            Dorian wanted to leave his eyes shut but he had a very good feeling that that was not going to get him anywhere. Opening his eyes a little further, he met the dark stare of the templar in front of him. Exercising a degree of caution, he kept his mouth shut.

            The templar tipped his head back as he studied Dorian. “You went down hard, mage. With the mouth you’ve got on you, I find it hard to believe that you wouldn’t have been smote before.”

            “I haven’t had the pleasure before, no,” Dorian admitted.

            “You’re a sick fuck if you think that was pleasurable,” a voice called.

            Dorian bit his tongue, regretting saying anything.

            But the templar in front of him was still watching him, not looking away. He was the real and immediate threat. He was the one Dorian needed to be careful of. “Never been smote,” he said lowly, clearly turning the words over in his mind. “You aren’t from the south, are you.”

            It wasn’t a question so Dorian didn’t answer. It earned him a sharp crack across his face and he tasted blood as his teeth caught his cheek.

            “Tevinter,” the templar said, his voice barely above a growl. “That’s where you’re from.”

            Dorian’s gaze flicked up to him and it took all of his control not to spit blood at him. “Yes.”

            There was dead silence in the cave now. He couldn’t even hear them breathing. Was it that ridiculous of a concept that he was from Tevinter? Or was it something else that he was soon to become privy to? “You’re a long way from home, Vint.”

            He was well aware of that. But he just waited for the templar to do something, strike him, curse at him, keep talking, anything. Because each second that passed was another second closer to regaining his mana and being able to get out of here. Templar or not, no man was completely immune to terror and he had the perfect spells to use on them. He just needed to be able to cast them.

            “What are you doing down here?” he demanded.

            “Research,” he said honestly. “On a work visa through the University of Orlais.”

            “Why would they contract out when there’s too many mages in the south already?”

            How was he supposed to know? He was starting to think the visa had been a lie. At least the part involving the university. There was no way the Orlesians would have agreed to those rites so they must have been lied to or bribed to allow his countrymen inside their borders.

            “What makes you so special that they’d bring your kind down from the north?”

            “My dazzling wit and charm perhaps.”

            The templar’s head slowly tipped to the side. “You like playing with fate, don’t you?” he asked before he snapped his fingers.

            Dorian’s heart leapt into his chest as he heard more chairs scrape against the ground before there were hands on him. “Let go of me!” he snapped, trying to lash out before his legs were seized.

            They barely paid attention to him, several pairs of hands seizing arms and legs and hauling him off the hook to force him onto his back on the ground. The lead templar watched the whole process, his expression giving nothing away. But that only made it worse because Dorian had no idea what he was liable to do.

            Panic filled him when rough hands grabbed his face and forced his jaw open. What were they doing?! His lungs locked up when the templar unsheathed a wicked looking knife and started toward them. He struggled as much as he could but he was pinned and his mana was still nowhere near high enough for him to do anything about his situation.

            “Once,” the templar said, crouching over Dorian’s chest, “long ago, punishments were more just toward mages who disobeyed. There weren’t as many rights for your kind but today the governments see you as people, recognize you as part of our countries and that grants you rights alongside all the normal people that don’t want anything to do with magic.”

            What was he saying?! He sounded positively barbaric! Is this what the southern templars were taught?

            “They got rid of a lot of the punishments used to keep mages in line, but they kept the brand and some of us know of other ways to keep your kind quiet.”

            Dorian tried to jerk his head away when the templar reached out with his free hand, wedging dirty fingers between his teeth to grasp his tongue. He gagged as it was hauled out of his mouth and all of their grips on him tightened as he thrashed slightly. Was he going to cut out his tongue?!

            “This will teach you too make smart remarks to your betters,” the templar sneered. “And after we’ll take you back to the town and-”

            Dorian’s eyes widened as a spray of blood washed over his face and those holding him down. What had just happened? His eyes somehow got wider when he realised there was an arrow sticking out of the middle of his forehead. An arrow? Freckles?! He heard frantic cries go up from the templars before one of them shoved the body off of him as it started to topple over and took its place.

            He wheezed as he dropped his bulk on him, driving the air from his lungs. The others were letting him go, looking for weapons and where the arrow had come from. They were shouting but his focus was on the man sitting on him, a wicked look in his eyes and the knife in his hands. “Don’t care so much about the tongue, but that pretty face of yours definitely needs some work.”

            “Clearly you haven’t looked in a mirror,” Dorian spat, his voice weak.

            "You won't even recognise yourself when I'm done with you."

            The panic Dorian felt at that sent a rush through him before he realised it wasn't just panic. Gathering all that he could, he channeled it into a single thought and thrust his hand out at the man. The scream was less than gratifying as flames burst in his face, licking at hair and consuming flesh.

            The Templar used one hand to bat at his face to try to put out the flames but Dorian kept what little mana he had focused. He wasn't letting those flames go out until he was sure they had done their job.

            But he'd forgotten about the knife. He flinched when the blade caught his cheek, slicing through skin and disrupting his focus. Enough so that he lost the fire and was left with the sight of melted flesh. He looked oddly like a candle burnt for too long but the insane rage in his eyes told Dorian he was still more than capable of doing damage to him.

            "Fucking mage," he rasped, his lips splitting and bleeding on the words.

            Dorian blindly grasped for his magic even as he caught the man's arm to try to stop him from driving the knife into his body. It was difficult because there were still chains on his arms and he was weak from having hung from them for so long. But he still tried. He just had to hold on, he could hold on. He was not going to die in some cave in the ass end of Orlais!

            The thought gave him a little more strength, desperation and sheer stubbornness making him hold out. This pig was not killing him!

            The melted face twisted into a snarl, exposed teeth bleeding and gaping between the split lips. "Fucking die!"

            Panic as he leaned forward, putting his considerable weight behind the blade. It inched closer to his chest, too close! He was not-His eyes widened when gloved hands grasped the Templar's head and pushed. He gagged as the grotesque face twisted and compressed before his mouth and eyes snapped shut as he heard the crack of bone before a sharp snap. He retched as something wet struck him before the weight was being tossed aside.

            "Come on, we have to go."

            Dorian opened his eyes and saw a pair of dark eyes above an even darker cloth. But he could see the black curls and all those tiny spots. "Freckles?" he croaked.

            "Yes, Trouble. It's me but we need to move. I don't know how many more are here and I'm not staying to find out."

            Dorian quite agreed and pushed himself up with shaking arms. He watched numbly as Freckles grasped his shackles, snapping them easily. "You came."

            Those dark eyes flicker up to him and Dorian was surprised to see they weren't black. They were a deep green like the forests that grew on the edge of Tevinter and the Free Marches. "I said I was going to help you," he said, grasping Dorian's hands to haul him to his feet. "I'm a lot of things but I keep my fucking word. Can you walk?"

            Dorian wasn't sure but he still nodded. He wobbled when Freckles let him go and barely stayed upright. And Freckles noticed.

            "Fuck. Hold on."

            To what? Dorian didn't even get to ask as Freckles slung his bow and unsheathed a blade that made the Templar's look like a butter knife. A brief moment of panic flared up, was he going to use it on him? But it faded as Freckles bent at the waist and slammed his shoulder into Dorian's already abused gut. "Put me down!"

            "Shut up!" he hissed, levering himself up with Dorian dangling over his shoulder. “Shit, you’re heavier than you look.”

            Dorian didn’t say anything to that, was more concentrated on keeping his stomach inside himself. Because at this very moment it was very much trying to come out of his month. Squeezing his eyes shut, he made it his number one priority to not vomit. But every time his gut connected with Freckles’ shoulder it became a new battle. One he wasn’t so sure he was honestly going to win.

            “Has your magic come back?” Freckles demanded, pausing and sounding slightly out of breath.

            “Not going to be much use hanging off your shoulder,” Dorian groaned.

            “Fuck. Look, you’ve got to get back to the town. Your way out is waiting and-”

            “Like. Fuck.”

            “This isn’t the time to be smart, Trouble. I need you to go. I can distract them and you can-”

            Dorian gave him a shove which wasn’t the greatest of ideas. It sent them both tumbling into the wall and Dorian slid off his shoulder to land in a heap. “I’m not leaving you here,” he spat, pushing himself up on wobbling limbs. “It’s my fault this has happened and you’re not going to stay here because of my mistake!”

            Freckles glared at him. “We both can’t-”

            “We can.”

            Dark eyes stared at him for a long moment before he dug into a pouch on his hip. “Take these,” he muttered, holding out two vials of blue liquid.

            “Lyrium?” Dorian demanded. “You had this and weren’t going to-”

            “I lifted them off the templars,” Freckles cut in. “They’re not what you’re used to taking so I didn’t want to give them to you. Mages don’t react well when they take lyrium designed for templars.”

            “How do you know that?”

            He shook his head. “Trust me, you’re only going to want a little bit of this,” he said lowly as Dorian took the vials. “Space it out. Do not down all of it at once.”

            Dorian didn’t want to know what would happen if he did that. Popping the lid on one of them, he lifted it to his lips and sipped hesitantly at it. He grimaced as it hit his tongue. That was definitely not the lyrium he was used to. Did people willingly take this? Why?

            But the lyrium did its job, rekindling his magic and making it hum through his body. Capping it, he tucked both vials away and tried not to shudder. He never wanted to be without his magic again. He never wanted to be in a position like this again.

            “Ready?” Freckles asked quietly.

            Looking up at him, Dorian nodded.

            “Don’t use magic yet,” he warned, pulling an arrow out. “They’ll be able to pinpoint us faster if you do.”

            He nodded again. As much as he wanted to throw a barrier around each of them, he would rather not have to and get out of here without encountering anymore templars. He followed Freckles as the other man crept through the tunnels, tense and fighting his own panic. What would happen if they got caught again? What would happen to Freckles for helping him? He shook his head. No, they were going to get out and he was going to get as far away from here as he could possibly could and he was never coming back.

            Freezing when Freckles stopped, he suppressed the urge to call magic into his palm. That wouldn’t help them. Yes, it would make him feel better, but that was not what this was about. He needed to stay alive. That was what this was about. Magic wasn’t a benefit right now. He just needed to be as patient as he could. Panicking  now wouldn’t work in anyone’s favour.

            His skin was still crawling as they started creeping forward again, moving far slower than he would have liked. But he kept to it, rubbing his fingers together and resisting the urge to call up any magic. Freckles would get them out. He had gotten in so he would get them out. He just had to be patient and-

            “There!”

            Dorian felt his magic surge, but he still choked on it. They’d been discovered but-

            “Use it!” Freckles shouted, loosing an arrow before the words were out of his mouth.

            Dorian didn’t hesitate. Throwing out his hand in the direction the voice had come from, he called up flames to block the entrance of the tunnel. There were shouts, but they weren’t alarmed. They were angry, angrier than the last time he had heard them. And louder in volume meaning there were more of them than had been in the same area he had been held.

            “Move, that way!” Freckles snapped, jerking his head over his shoulder.

            He followed the tunnel, his mana crackling under his skin. The lyrium hadn’t been enough to fully restore his implants but it was more than enough to make sure that he had a few more spells in him. But he wasn’t going to waste them on nothing. His need for a barrier was still hammering through him but how quickly could a templar dispel it and he would have wasted a spell. Shit! No, no, no, he needed to stay calm. Losing his cool here would result in his death.

            This was like the duels that had once been fought all across the Imperium. Those had been life and death and he had studied them. It was no different except for the fact that he was now a part of it and-

            His thoughts stopped when a hulking frame stepped into his path. He didn’t think, he reacted. The spell left him, one he hadn’t expected to ever use when he had learned it. One he hadn’t really thought much of when he had learned it. But it left him now, almost like instinct, and he saw a flash of surprise as the spell grabbed the templar, sinking deep and not letting go. Any other situation he might have been sorry, but the man in front of him had been ready to kill him and Dorian was ready to do the same.

            The man stumbled back, clutching at his head but Dorian knew it wouldn’t do him any good. The pain he was feeling wasn’t going to go away and it wasn’t going to get any better.

            “What are you doing?” Freckles demanded. “Why is he alive?!”

            “He’s not,” Dorian said, stepping to the side as the man stumbled toward him. He pushed Freckles to the side and watched as he shambled back the way they had come.  “He’ll die very shortly.”

            “What did you do to him?”

            Dorian glanced at him. “You don’t want to know,” he said quietly. If Freckles didn’t like magic, he highly doubted he was going to like the fact that he had saved a necromancer on top of that. “We need to go.”

            Freckles looked back before he nodded. “Move. You might have bought us enough time. Go.”

            Dorian didn’t look back, he kept going. The tunnel would lead them out. He was going to get out and he was not going to think about the explosion he heard behind him. He just wasn’t going to think about it.

            Freckles grabbed the back of his shirt and hauled him back before he could step into the light. “Wait,” he said quietly. “They put snipers outside to make sure no one leaves without them saying so.”

            “Then what do you suggest we do?”

            “Wait,” he repeated.

            Watching, Dorian saw Freckles shift just enough so that he could see out of the door. He strung his bow, gloved hands stroking along the shaft of the arrow. “What are you doing? Can’t he see you?”

            “That was the plan.”

            The plan? What plan? This didn’t make any sense and-Dorian’s eyes widened when Freckles jerked back and blood bloomed on his shirt. “You-!”

            “Got you,” he growled, lifting the bow and firing an arrow before he ducked around the door frame.

            Dorian stared at him, ducking back himself when a second shot ripped through the door. But there was a muffled noise, another explosion, in the distance.

            Dark eyes slid to him. “Come on, Trouble. Let’s get you out of here.”

            “You’ve been shot!”

            “Not the first time, won’t be the last,” he dismissed. “It’s not that bad.”

            How many times had he been shot for this to be not that bad? But Dorian followed him. “Are you sure that you shouldn’t treat that?”

            “Unless you suddenly developed healing skills, there’s not much you can do about it.”

            Of all the things he had taken up, necromancy was the least beneficial to them right now. Why did he take it up? Why of all the choices that had been presented to him, he chose the route of terror and the dead? What fucking use was it?

            But he followed Freckles, hot on his heels as they went back through the sand. His neck was prickling as if they were still being watched, but he didn’t stop moving. They couldn’t. If they did they would surely be dead. With any luck they had done enough damage to keep whatever was left in that cave from doing anything more.

            Of course he wasn’t sure he had any luck left.

            The shanty town came into view well before he had expected it but Freckles skirted around it, leading him to a small rocky outcropping outside of it. His heart leapt when he saw the beaten down truck waiting. There were bundles in the back, a tarp, more than enough space for someone to hide in. His way out.

            “You actually did it,” Dorian breathed.

            “I don’t break my promises,” Freckles said lowly, his voice strained. “I don’t keep much to how I was raised, but I don’t fucking break my promises.”

            Dorian shook his head, unable to believe he was actually getting out. He was getting out. Heaving himself into the back of the truck, Dorian told himself he wasn’t shaking, he definitely wasn’t shaking. He was going to be out of here. He was going to put this behind him and never think about it again. He was barely settled before he turned to face the other man. Holding out a hand to him, he said, “Come on. They’ll be leaving shortly.”

            Freckles sighed, shaking his head. “There’s nothing for me out there, Trouble,” he muttered. “I’m better off here.”

            Dorian stared at him. How could he even think that? There was nothing out here. How could he possibly want to stay out here? “Freckles-”

            “Don’t,” he said quietly, dropping something into his lap. “Just get out. While you still can.”

            Dorian watched him, watched him wrap his face in dark cloth and walk away. “You still could too,” he muttered.

            But Freckles didn’t stop walking, didn’t even give any indication that he had heard.

            Glancing down at the bundle that had been dropped into his lap, Dorian slowly unwrapped it as the truck started. His breath caught as he saw his Birthright sitting amidst the fabric. Had Freckles found it before getting him out? Because he was sure that the templars would have taken it from him, along with whatever other few material possessions he still had. “Why?” he whispered. “Why would you…?”

            Because he had nothing to his name except this and it would fetch a far higher price in the city than out in the sand. So he had a means of getting back to whatever life he wanted to. “Freckles,” he muttered, “you bloody idiot.”

            He’d pay him back for this. If it was the last thing Dorian did, he would make sure that Freckles got out of the desert. Alive and in one piece.

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a little side story for the main one of how exactly Dorian got to Redcliffe (or on his way there at least) and more importantly why. I liked the idea and it's a nice tie in to the main story so I figured why not do it? It's all finished so I'll post one chapter a day before the next Second Dragon Age update!


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